


The Wild Rose

by Evilsnowswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, Dark One Belle, F/M, Knight Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Knight!Rumple, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Sir Rumplestiltskin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilsnowswan/pseuds/Evilsnowswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Rumbelle Secret Santa in July gift for HandWithQuill</b>
</p><p><b>Summary</b>: [Rumbelle Enchanted Forest AU] Sir Rumplestiltskin is left with no other choice than to set out on an impossible quest that quickly turns into an adventurous journey across the realm alongside the most powerful dark sorceress of all time. </p><p><b>Prompt</b>: Knight!Rumple fights DO!Belle</p><p>- Nominated for Best DarkOne!Belle in The Espenson Awards 2017 -</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anything For The Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HandwithQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandwithQuill/gifts).



He tightened his grip on the hilt. The metal was warm and slippery in his sweaty palm. He could have deluded himself into thinking that it was simply this realm's climate that did not agree with him and caused cold sweat to break out on his forehead and slowly trickle down his temple, but Rumplestiltskin was no fool and knew that his clammy hands had nothing to do with Avonlea's balmy weather. 

The heavy armor was making it difficult to breathe. It was too heavy for him in more than the literal sense. He should never have agreed to do this. Yet he knew that he would have made the same decisions that had led him here again in a single heartbeat – if only for the look on his boy’s face when Bae had watched him cross the courtyard in his golden armor, sword in holster.

Rumplestiltskin would never forget how his son’s eyes had lit up then, how he had stood a little straighter, how he had beamed around at his friends. He had _friends_ now, his boy. Rumple had put on a show for Bae and the Princess and the other children in the yard, swinging his sword, jabbing thin air with the blade, pretending to be fighting a shadow. Little did the children know of the real daemons he was battling - daemons that only he could see, daemons that whispered to him in his sleep. They never left him now. They clung to him, their faceless bodies swimming in his bloodstream, their cold hands squeezing his heart and making his chest ache. He kept up appearances, but the guilt was eating him alive.

The children had laughed. A squire had brought his white stallion, saddle bags bulging with the finest provisions from the kitchens - wine flasks, flatbread wrapped in light-blue linen, cheeses and cacciatorino salami as well as a variety of fruit. He was careful to eat the fruit first and it was gone long before he had crossed the West Mountains.

He had made a show of galloping through the gates when he had left - just to have the sound of his son’s booming laughter be the last thing he heard before embarking on his quest. If he failed his mission, it would be the memory he’d think of before death would take him.

Bae believed in him. Maybe that was all he needed to succeed. How hard could it be to find her? From the sound of it, nobody had really tried. They had good reason not to. Those who had once set out - long before him - had never returned. Everyone assumed they had been slaughtered by the ogres. But he was the ogre-slayer. How could he have refused them? How could he have refused his boy - a silent plea in his eyes? Refusing would have meant coming clean and ruining not only the boy’s future, but also shattering his hopes and his trust into a billion pieces. He could not bring himself to do it. Instead, he had accepted the task.  
  
Rumplestiltskin took another tentative step his eyes sweeping the passage. There was no one here, yet he felt the cold stone walls watching his every move, breathing down his neck, huffing in indignation at his breach. Scattered sunlight fell through the many high windows that lined this hallway. Most of them were broken - and those that weren’t were so dirty that you could hardly make out the tops of the East Mountains in the distance – or the sun that was slowly setting behind them.  

Maybe he should have waited to enter until the next morning. A shiver ran down Rumpelstiltskin’s spine. The castle was said to be abandoned, but this did not feel right. The place was eerily quiet. It was too quiet.

He would have expected it to be overgrown with moss or ivy. He had half expected the large rosebushes that had greeted him in the courtyard to have taken up residence inside the place as well, but no. The flowers clearly hadn’t been tended to in many years though. From what he could tell, they must have spread from the back of the castle all the way round till the front. But the castle itself was neither overgrown nor crawling with nature’s creatures. No animals had claimed it as their shelter. Although rather dirty, there were no mouse droppings on the floor and no paw prints. Not a single spider’s web or bird’s nest in the corners. He strained his ears, but the sound of his own heavy boots on the tiles was the only thing he could hear. That and his labored breathing.

He quickened his pace. Where would it be? He had said that it was large and impossible to miss. Rumplestiltskin had no idea what to look out for, though. If it was hard to miss, then it would probably be in the heart of the building. If it was large, it was more likely to be floor level or underground. He would start from here and comb through the entire castle if he had to. He would open every door in this place if that was what it took to return home to his son.

At the end of the hall he found himself facing a wooden door, white faded paint peeling off it. He could either turn left now and keep walking the halls or he could grab the bull by the horns and start with this door.

This one really was as good as any, he decided and pushed it open.

The room behind it was empty but for a long oak table in the middle and a wooden throne in the far right corner that was missing half its backrest and was facing East. The ends were splintered where half the back appeared to have been torn away.

The wind swept through his hair and he turned – only now did he notice that large chunks of the wall to his left were missing. This must have been where they had entered then. Where the attack had begun. Judging from the holes, Rumple did not like to imagine what size the attacking ogres in question must have been. The ugliest nastiest kind for sure. He shuddered.

The old fool was clearly deluding himself. No one could have survived an attack like this. Even as he thought it Rumple was sure that he would have clung to silly hope too, had their places been reversed. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must feel like to not know, to hope beyond hope for the unlikely, for the impossible. To keep that last flicker of hope alive inside even when no one listened to you ramble anymore; even when the birds had long stopped bringing you any news at all.

Rumple looked down. The black and white floor tiles reminded him of a chess board and he wondered vaguely if he was light or dark in this game he had been forced to play. Was something wrong if it was done for the right reasons? Was omitting the truth the same as outright lying? The guilt was overwhelming at times. A constant acid taste in his mouth.

He just had to. He had to for Bae and for the old man. He was his only hope. His last hope.

“Good evening”

Rumplestiltskin jumped and whirled back around. His quivering blade was pointing at a woman, now perched atop the massive chair that resembled a throne. Had he overlooked her? That seemed to be a possibility – she was very small, curled up like a tiny animal on the seat, a ginormous leather-bound book in her lap. Her light blue gown was draped over one of the armrests. It flowed over it like a clear stream in spring, a waterfall of gorgeous chiffon.

Maybe it was a relic from his days as a poor spinner, but he could not help but admire the stitching as he ran his eyes back up her dress. It was beautifully crafted. The fine golden sequin embroidery on the hemlines was exquisite. Yet more sequin – a darker blue, the color of early night sky, with specks of gold- clasped around her waist almost made him gasp.

The woman looked up at him expectantly, as though waiting for a reply. Rumplestiltskin did not move a muscle. His mind was reeling. Why was she here? Who was she? And – was she alone?

She just kept on looking at him, alert like a tiny fox on a hill, but calm.

"Jumpy one, aren't you, knight?" She clasped the heavy volume shut, marking her page with a fine silver thread that she seemed to have conjured from thin air.

He blinked confusedly, looked more closely at her pale hands. Mesmerized, he watched her brush her thumb over the tips of her right index and middle finger in a circular motion repeatedly- at which more thread appeared and immediately curled itself around all her fingers like tiny glistening snakes. The motion almost a loving caress, oddly intimate, unnerved him. He gulped and tried to tear his eyes away from the sight as yet more silver appeared and swirled and twisted itself around her whole hand, down to her wrist. The way her fingers moved, her light touch on skin and silver, it reminded him of string instruments being played. It felt indecent to watch her spin.

This small woman was no ordinary woman. This was a witch he had stumbled upon. His mouth went dry. He had to be very careful now. Witches were better not to be crossed. What if he had already crossed her by entering? If she had claimed this castle then he better prayed that she was in a forgiving mood tonight.

Rumple felt dizzy. His heart pounded in his chest and ears simultaneously. He was almost certain now that there was indeed music playing, albeit very softly. It was a light tune, no more than a faint whisper. He grew increasingly hot under his armor and for a split second entertained the notion of taking it all off - of stripping bare right then and there. A small voice in the back of his head cautioned him against it and he froze in his tracks, one hand pausing on the clasp of his breast plate, the other still clutching his weapon.

Breathing heavily, he caught a whiff of something warm and flowery. It was a peculiar, but altogether not unpleasant smell that made his mouth water. A strange contentment washed over him and Rumple had to shake his head a couple of times to rid his senses of the sweet music and smell. His mouth fell open involuntarily.   
  
When her fingers stilled abruptly, his eyes snapped back up to her face. A hint of a smile played on her lips. They weren't exactly the full sensuous kind, but the soft pink stood out against her extremely pale skin nonetheless. Her features were delicate and her heat-shaped face perfectly symmetrical. She would have been the most beautiful woman Rumplestiltskin had ever beheld, if it hadn’t been for the web of dark red veins shining through every inch of her almost translucent skin. He wanted to touch it. He was sure it would feel as soft as white feathers under his fingertips. He shook his head again.

“So - What brings you here, member of the King’s Guard?” Her voice was liquid honey, but her smile did not reach her eyes. They were cold - a frozen lake in winter. She did not blink.

“I-“ He finally lowered his sword “I am looking for something”

She cocked her head “What is it? Maybe I can be of help?”

Rumple hesitated and the woman smirked. He did not know much about magic, but he knew that it always came with a price. He would not be so reckless to make a deal with a witch. The magic folk were all alike like this – they would try to trick you, befuddle you, charm you with their well-chosen words and slowly weave a tight web around you, a dangerous inescapable cocoon.

“That is very kind of you, M’lady” He wanted nothing more than to turn and bolt from the room “but I do not require assistance”

Her eyes narrowed.

“My apologies for the disturbance” he added hastily.

She gave him a half smile “Should you truly be as ignorant as you appear? Forgive me, but that is hard to believe. Speak the truth now - why did you seek me out? What is it you want?”

What he wanted? He wanted for this nightmarish expedition to end. He wanted to live a happy quiet life with his son. Neither seemed to be a possibility in the very near future.

He took a deep breath “Do you know this castle well?” His voice was less steady than he wished it to be.

“Maybe” she was smirking again “Tell me what you are looking for”

That was a command, but he did not oblige “Do you live here?” He was walking dangerous ground by keeping the conversation going. He wasn’t sure why he did it when all his instincts were telling him to run. His instincts were that of a coward.

“Everyone who lived here is dead” she said simply “Come on now, little knight, tell me what I want to know” her voice was sunlight and flowers again, sickly sweet and tempting, beckoning. She twirled a strand of her sleek shiny hair around her finger, the silver thread intertwining with the rich russet brown.

He took an involuntary step forward “I am looking for someone, a girl” he blurted.

Her lip curled “I don’t deal in damsels, playthings or _love_ ” the contempt in her voice swept over him like ice-cold water “If that is what you are after you better leave now, knight” she turned slightly in her seat.

This was a warning. He was dismissed. Rumplestiltskin turned, ready to run for it and try his luck somewhere else, but then spun back around “I am not looking to bewitch a girl to love me” The heavens knew that attempt would be futile “I wish to reunite her with her family. I –“

He stopped. He didn’t even know why he wanted her to know this.

Her expression changed. He thought he glimpsed cracks in the ice, banks almost breaking and giving way to storms in her crystal blue eyes. Almost, but not quite. She blinked at him.

“It’s her father’s dying wish” he added softly.

The tiny witch leaned forward and placed her elbow on the armrest, resting her chin on her hand. She considered him for a long moment. Her gaze was so intense that Rumple felt the heat rise to his cheeks again.

“I will trade you for a spell” she said finally. Her face was open, the lake’s surface calm again. No tempest on the horizon.

His mind screamed at him to decline her offer – he wasn’t even sure if he could – but a trade was a very bad idea. It had to have a catch. There was always a trap laid out for the gullible poor souls stupid enough to agree to a witch’s terms. And yet – if he had magical aid he would have a reasonable chance at success. Maybe the consequences were something he deserved to endure.

“I have nothing on me to match such generosity - nothing of worth to repay you, M’lady” He only had the clothes on his back, his weapon and his loyal stallion tethered to a post outside. He had need for all three still and surely the witch was not interested in the meager provision scraps left over in the saddle bags. “I could arrange for a promise of gold, though” If he was successful he could use his reward to pay her back.

She shook her head.

Of course not. She wanted payment immediately. Only Rumplestiltskin had nothing to give. He hung his head. He wasn’t even good enough to secure a witch’s deal.

She giggled. Lovely little bells chiming. Startled, Rumple looked up.

“Oh, don’t worry. There is _something_ you can do” this time when she smirked, she sucked in her bottom lip and batted her eyelashes at him. “I am in need of a companion –“

Rumple felt like a hot kettle about to whistle. His face burned.

She tutted at him “There is a journey I wish to make. I would feel much safer on the road with an honorable sword by my side for protection.”

 _Oh_. She wanted a _travel companion_? The knot in his chest loosened a little. That was something he could do, couldn’t he? It sounded innocent enough. He was already travelling anyway, wasn’t he? He could afford to make a detour if that made his task easier in the long run.

“I will travel with you, keep you company and shield you from harm in exchange for a spell – these are your terms?” He wanted to make absolutely sure.

She nodded, smiling as if he were a child that had just grasped a new concept or learned a new word “Yes, those are my terms” she echoed.

He could not detect any loopholes “I will receive my spell once the journey is completed?” He better made doubly sure. Witches could not be trusted. Not even when they were beautiful. Especially not when they were beautiful.

“Yes. You have my word” the witch said patiently.

“Then you have mine” Rumple would have held out his hand for a shake, but it did not seem fitting. She was still sitting curled up on the wrecked throne. He did not dare approach her.

“Very well then” she stood, placing the book on the seat.

She wasn’t much taller standing up than she was sitting down. Minuscule and delicate she reminded him of faeries – albeit the sinister kind. No wonder she had asked for protection, Rumple thought. Yet maybe her size was misleading. Maybe she was a pixie. Those could be wicked. He had to be careful.

“Did you travel here on foot?” She asked him.

“No, my horse is outside.” Was it wise to tell her this?

She looked out over the East Mountains. Daylight was almost gone now, the room getting chillier and darker by the minute. The breeze caught in her dress and it swirled on the floor – a streaming babbling brook of flimsy fabric. He could see her breathe, in and out, slowly and shallow. She appeared lost in reverie, eyes unfocused.

Rumple cleared his throat.

“It will be seen to it that your horse receives proper care and shelter for the night” she was looking at him again “and isn’t it high time you put that away?” she asked, indicating his sword as she started walking towards him.

He let it slide back into its holster, rubbed his hands together nervously, looked around. Anywhere but at her face as she approached him. Her steps made no sound on the floor. Maybe she was floating rather than walking, hovering slightly elevated. Rumple had to keep himself from checking for wings. He would not have been surprised to find a pair on her back.

She stood in front of him now. Her proximity made him hold his breath. She did not look up at him, but had him look down and hunch over slightly for her. When she put her hand on his breastplate and rose on her toes to whisper in his ear, he almost jumped out of his skin.

“What is your name, my handsome knight?”

Her breath was warm against his ear. He could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He was covered in goose flesh.

She was veiled in a light dreamy scent – lemon, bergamot, vanilla and sandalwood – like clean, naked skin, warm and soft. He found himself inhaling deeply, drinking it in, drinking her in.

“R-umplestiltskin, M’lady” he stammered breathlessly.

She took a step back, but she was still in his space, forcing him to look down at her as she spoke. “You may choose your quarter for the night freely, Rumplestiltskin” she told him “but the South Wing is out of bounds. You will find refreshment down in the kitchens. Take as you please.”

He nodded.

“I wish to begin the journey at first light.”

She stepped back further, turned and resumed her position on the half-throne. Rumplestiltskin watched her open her book again.

He stood watching her read. Well, it seemed he’d better find a comfortable nook to sleep in then. He wasn’t that tired yet, but there was no denying the gnawing hunger in his hollow stomach. He would pay a visit to the kitchens first. Maybe explore the castle a little further after that - if he could find a light source. Maybe he could ask for some candles? Then he realized –

“Apologies, but the lady hasn’t told me _her_ name?”

She looked up at him “You really don’t know, do you? How delightfully curious” she laughed and bells tinkled again “I don’t have a name, Sir Rumplestiltskin member of the King’s Guard. They call me the Dark Lady”

Rumplestiltskin’s blood ran cold. He had not made a deal with an ordinary witch, not agreed upon a journey alongside a common pixie, but had pledged his services to none other than the Dark One, the most powerful sorceress in all the realms. He was bound by his promise, his honor - he had given her his word. He stumbled backwards a few steps. Why would the Dark Lady want his protection? He did not understand.


	2. On The Sunny Road

Rumplestiltskin could not sleep. He sat on the straw in his stallion’s stall and watched him munch away at the fruit, haver and hay. He hadn’t seen any servants. The Dark Lady must have magiced it all into existence - and the stupid clueless animal was gobbling her magic hay up like it had never tasted anything finer. Maybe they were both stupid, he thought rubbing his own full belly, but if they were about to die they might as well die well fed.

He stretched out on the bales. The animal’s warmth filled the small space. It felt comforting to have another living breathing being close-by. Rumple closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the sound of apples being crunched and the familiar smell of dry straw. It was no use. He could not run. Whatever she wanted him for, he would have to do it. What kind of journey was it though that a powerful sorceress could not go on alone? And why would she have to travel wherever it was that she wanted to go to in the first place? He rolled over on his back and stared at the dark ceiling. Couldn’t she just appear at her destination at will? The more he thought about it, the less he understood.

When he opened his eyes again he saw a sea of brown. Dark brown fabric. A dress. The Dark Lady was here. Her long gown rustled as she ruffled his stallion’s mane and petted his neck and then scratched him behind the ears. The stupid animal liked that. Rumple could hear the drool dripping onto the floor. Whenever the horse was relaxed, he would stick out his tongue and drool like a dog. He liked it when you scratched the tongue too, the idiot.

“What a friendly horse you have, knight” she looked at him over her shoulder, her hands rapidly braiding the white hair “No early birds you two, though” she chuckled “We have been waiting for you, so I came to check”

Rumple sat up hastily and ran a hand through his messy hair. What time was it? “Good morning, M’lady. Sorry to have kept you waiting” he was painfully aware that he was only wearing his linen under-shirt and under-pants, the rest of his garments folded and armor put away beside him and his weapon leaning against the wall. Thankfully there was no sight of the morning glory.

She gave him the once-over, her incisors scraping her bottom lip, momentarily draining it of color. “Would you like some magical assistance with that?” She looked at his armor, then back at him.

He shook his head and clambered to his feet. True, putting on the armor was a hassle and took its time, but he did not trust the magic – maybe it would have his armor strangle him in his sleep.

“Well, you do require help to put it on, don’t you?” She ducked under the horse’s neck and picked up the arming doublet to hand it to him. “It is impossible to get into plate all by yourself. However did you manage to unbuckle it last night? You don’t seem to have brought a squire with you.”

Rumple shrugged and bent down to put on his woolen stockings. In truth many of the buckles and clasps were a tad loose – which made the armor rather useless when it came to safety and protection - but he would not tell her that.

He put on his pants and boots, wrapped cloth straps tightly around his knees; then strapped the spurs to his boots. He could feel her watching him and he tried to keep his hands steady as he reached for the greaves and clasped them shut around his calves. His fingers trembled as he buckled them up.

He exhaled and glanced upward.

She stood, leaning against the stall wall twirling her hair around her fingers lazily (no silver this time). Their eyes met. His ears were hot.He wished she would turn her attention back to the horse. Careful not to look up at her face again, he put on the cuisses and closed the straps - then tied them to the doublet with a loop.

When he wanted to reach for the mail garments, she was already beside him. He would have moved to put more distance between them, but the small stall did not permit it. If he stepped sideways, he’d step right into the wall. So he took the mail skirt she was holding out wordlessly and shrugged into it, tying it at his waist.

There was the scent again. _Vanilla and lemon_.

Next her hands were on his shoulders, her warm breath on his neck. When she brushed his skin with her fingers tying the knot on the mail collar, Rumple had to slam his eyes shut. Whatever magic this was, it amplified each sensation and had him go weak in the knees. It was pathetic. A real knight would not conduct himself like this. A real knight would not let a dangerous sorceress anywhere near his neck. A real knight would have knocked back her offer. But he was no real knight and she was way too close.

He held his breath while she laced the mail voiders on his doublet to the collar with swift movements and motioned for him to hold the upper cuirass in place while she buckled the shoulder-straps and the strap under his right arm.

“Hold this” she commanded and he held the lower cuirass fast with his left hand on his hip and his right on his belly.

She buckled the straps at his waist and hip, then crouched down.

Rumplestiltskin said a quick prayer in his head as she began attaching the tassets to the breastplate. He looked down at her head as she fastened the first strap. The next was attached to the tasset directly in front of his groin. Her slender fingers pulled the dark leather through the buckle and tightened it. She did not move on to the next one right away, but let her fingers linger on the buckle.

Rumple kept exceptionally still. He tried to keep his mind blank. He had had people help him into his armor many times before – women, girls, boys – but never before had their closeness bothered him. He could feel the gooseflesh erupting on his arms.

She might not have looked it, but he had to remind himself that she was dangerous. He felt more exposed to her with every new piece of armor that covered his body. After the tassets, it was the arm and shoulder armor. He let her do as she pleased and she moved him around, placing his hands where she needed them.

When she was done she took a step back as if to admire her work “We should set out soon if we want to make it to safe camp by nightfall”

“Where will we be going, M’lady?” Rumple rolled his shoulders and moved his arms and legs to make sure nothing was hindering him. Everything seemed to be the way it should be. Where had she learned to put together armor like this?

“First we’ll ride for the Dark Forest. The midday heat should be more tolerable that way”

So they were headed East or North-East. Well, that didn’t help much to determine the destination of the journey or its purpose “How long will we be riding for, if I may ask?”

“Not to worry, provisions have been taken care of. There will also be sufficient rest for the horses” She stroked his stallion’s neck again and opened the stall with a flick of her wrist. The door slid open and she began to walk, his horse on her heels. She didn’t even have to lead him by the head collar. Rumple wondered if the animal followed of its own volition or if she had bewitched him.

“Now, if you please, Sir Rumplestiltskin?”

He followed. She had evaded his questions and he did not dare press her on them. He had no choice either way, so maybe it did not actually matter where they were going.

Outside his horse was waiting for him in the courtyard. Snaffle and saddle had been polished, provisions refilled, rolled up fabric fastened to the bags (he thought blankets or tents). He wanted to thank the Dark Lady, but she was nowhere to be seen, so he bridled and saddled his horse in silence and mounted. He waited. Maybe he should call her? Let her know he was ready? Rumple looked around.

At the sound of hooves he turned his head again. There she was, riding towards him on a sturdy palomino. He would have expected a finer breed, a taller more muscular built. Maybe a black horse. Something more intimidating. The podgy, good-tempered horse and her choice in travel clothing gave her the looks of a young innocent farmer’s girl – not a dangerous immortal sorceress.

He squeezed with his legs and had his stallion fall into step with her palomino as she passed him and the four of them crossed the yard and went through the gate. Rumple watched the waves clash into the rocky shore as they began descending the hill, the gravel crunching under the horses’ feet.

When they had reached the bottom the Dark Lady’s horse came to a halt. He copied her and reined in.

“I wish to stay off the King’s Road” she said curtly “I am not in the mood for company”

So they did and kept to smaller, winding trails instead.

The sun was still low in the sky, but the humidity already unbearable. This would be a highly uncomfortable ride. The slight breeze from the seaside did nothing to keep Rumple cool. His golden armor heated up too quickly for a bit of wind to do him any good. He thought longingly of the forest and wished they were already riding under a thick cool canopy of leaves. He wasn’t built for the heat. The part of the realm that he had lived most of his life in had a much more moderate climate.

They rode in silence and not another living soul crossed their path the whole morning.

Rumple glanced over at the Dark Lady on her fair plump gelding. Riding beside him she appeared neither dark nor very lady-like. She still wore the simple dress from the stables, a light hooded cloak above it and her open hair fell freely to her shoulders. She rode the common way, legs snugly pressed against the horse’s flanks on either side, when he would have expected her to ride side saddle. But then he would have also expected her to be wearing shoes.

Rumple chuckled to himself. She turned her head to look at him as if she had heard, her eyes bright - light reflecting off water - but said nothing. He hastily looked ahead through his stallion’s twitching ears until it felt safe enough to risk another peek. Maybe she could read minds?

If so, she did not seem interested in his right now – or in his gaze travelling over her body.

He looked back at his own hands, face hot, then over at hers. She was soft with her reins, barely holding them at all and with only one hand. She sat balanced and relaxed her body following the horse’s movements. Again Rumple wondered whether she used other means to control animals. Unlike the highborn ladies at King Leopold’s court, she wasn’t wearing any gloves or a sun bonnet. Quite the contrary - her face was turned towards the sun like she wanted to bathe as much of her skin as possible in the bright warmth. Her eyes were closed. She reminded him of a sunflower in spring.

Had he passed them by right now - on one of his walks through the forest collecting berries or mushrooms like he used to - he would never have guessed who she was. He would have assumed a maiden, maybe a hoydenish Duke’s daughter, escorted by one of the knights in her family’s service to someplace or other. Not an uncommon sight. He wouldn’t even have blinked an eye or thought twice about them. Maybe that was exactly what the Dark Lady wanted - to blend in and not draw attention to herself – but why?

It wasn’t only her clothes either. Her horse’s tack was old, the leather discolored and brittle. It must have been fine, expensive material at one point. Rumple could make out a faded complex pattern. He wondered why she had not bothered to repair or replace it. Maybe she simply didn’t ride much and had no use for brand new equipment. Or maybe its shabbiness too was part of her clever ruse to keep from being recognized.

He did not understand why she appeared to be so adamant to stay incognito. No one in their right mind would have dared to cross the Dark One. Not many knew what she really looked like, though.

It was said that she did not show herself very often – that she chose carefully whose calls she’d answer and whom she’d help. Why then had she chosen to make a deal with him? She had not had to. And why was she choosing not to hide from him now either, but to keep him around for company when she really did not need him or his sword at all?

He had heard many tales about the Dark One, but none of them seemed to fit the tiny lady. People said she was two-faced, capricious and cruel and that it was better not to cross paths with her at all if it could be avoided. No one really knew where she dwelled, for word was she was moving about the realm constantly – a dark shadow riding on the wind.

People blamed their rotten crops on her, their dying kettle, their sick children and their sour milk. Whenever the harvest would be particularly bad or a cow got sick, people would say that the Dark Lady must have taken up residence somewhere nearby. Then the children would set out to try and find her. The mysterious _her_ \- the dark witch they had not learned to fear. Since the end of the ogre wars children had not had to be afraid anymore. They knew nothing of hardships and war. They would plow through the forests and caves, telling sinister stories in which the Dark Lady decapitated giant ogres and noble knights alike – a bloody and merciless beast that would stop at nothing and no one in her blood rage. They painted grotesque pictures of her when she came to haunt them in their dreams after. Those artworks bore no resemblance whatsoever.

Even the washwomen had something to say about her. They did not blame her for the stains in the linen, but would gossip viciously whenever a knight or a sailor was believed to have dishonored his wife. Whenever there was talk of a bastard having been fathered by one of the town’s men.  Whenever they had seen a husband come stumbling home intoxicated and out of his senses. Whenever they would spot fresh purple bruises on one another’s bodies or faces at the river in the mornings. They said it was the Dark Lady’s fault – that she bewitched the men when she was in a mood, that she was lusty and vulgar and even took some of them with her for her own pleasure - if the knight, prince or captain in question was exceptionally handsome. They whispered and giggled and gasped and Rumple had heard them refer to the Dark Lady as the Dark Widow more than once.

It was hard for him now to believe that any of the old wives’ tales held even so much as a grain of truth. He could not imagine her slaying beasts or men in cold blood or lusting after some common crone’s man.

People were stupid. They didn’t even know what she really looked like. Though maybe her size and current appearance were indeed part of a trick. Maybe she was fooling him too. Maybe the point of the whole journey was not its destination. Maybe it was part of a test. Everyone knew the tales in which magicians tested mortals to judge their character or simply for their own entertainment. If this was a test he was not sure whether he wanted to pass or fail it; not sure which outcome held more danger to his life and limb.

They rode slowly so as to not exhaust the horses. When the heat seemed to have reached its peak for the day they stopped at a small lake, dismounted and let them drink and rest for a bit.

They had reached the outskirts of the Dark Forest. Rumple could see the line of tall dark trees looming from where they sat on the shore. A chill seemed to emanate from them, a gush of cool air blowing across his face and neck every now and then.

“Why did they send you to look for the missing girl?”

He hesitated “because I was willing to help, M’lady”

“And why is that, I wonder? The family in question must be very influential if they can persuade none other than the King’s Hand himself to search for their precious child?”

Of course she had seen the symbol. Of course she knew. “The Lady is right. The family is well-connected” That much he could say. There were many families like that in the Enchanted Forest. He would not be giving anything away. She did not have to know. She did not need the whole story.

“Why did you come to search this part of the realm?”

“I search every part of the realm, M’lady”

“And you will not rest until you find her” she smiled at him “I sincerely hope your honorableness does not get you killed. That would be a shame”

He wasn’t sure if he should thank her. Was she wishing him well or were her words a veiled threat? Before he could make up his mind, she had pushed herself up and walked to the water’s edge. Her horse looked up briefly.

Rumple watched her pull her hair up and twist it into a messy knot. Then she stepped into the clear water, holding her dress up by the hem. The reddish streaks in her hair gleamed like tiny flames. The light reflected off her skin and the lake’s surface alike. Rumple squinted at the sudden brightness. Dazzlingly bright, but beautiful like a red dragonfly she stood motionless and knee-deep in the water, her eyes fixed on the outline of the West Mountains in the distance.

He almost wished he could join her. The fresh water appeared even more inviting now than it had done only a few moments ago. He grabbed his water flask. There was nothing wrong with refilling that now. Who knew when they would come across a freshwater source next? It was only reasonable to not miss this opportunity.

The pebbles crunched under his boots as he walked. His eyes never left the Lady’s back.


	3. Deep Green

He would not have had to worry. Next he knew everything _was_ water. Water pouring down from the obscured sky. Water gushing from branches and running down barks. Water overflowing banks and turning the dusty pathways into rapid torrents. The rain fell in sheets. They could no longer see their hands in front of their faces. Everything was wetness, coldness, mud and mist.

They kept going, venturing deeper and deeper into the Dark Forest, but the downpour would not seize. It felt like they were diving underwater rather than riding ashore - struggling to see through stinging eyes, breathing dampness and earth.

The trees grew ever thicker and swallowed light and sound until day had become night and sound had turned into utter silence. There was only rain and darkness. They had fastened a thick rope to the saddles, connecting their horses and themselves.

Rumple could still make out the palomino’s tail and the Dark Lady’s silhouette ahead. She was leading the way. He wondered whether she could see in the dark, whether she still knew where they were going and whether she was as cold and miserable as he was. If only the rain would lighten, allow for a few lungfulls of air rather than murky water. Maybe she could give him gills, if he asked her for a pair.

His stallion came to a sudden halt. He had almost run into the palomino who was now swishing his tail angrily in his face, but did not kick.

The Dark Lady had turned around in her saddle. Rain was streaming down her face. She beckoned for him to lean forward, so he pushed himself up and leaned in, his weight resting in the stirrups.

She leaned back. They were now close enough for him to see her blink away raindrops. Her face shone in the deep green darkness. He hadn’t noticed her exceptionally long eyelashes before.

“You would not oppose a break, would you, Lord Hand?” he could barely make out her words. “The horses should not be out in this kind of weather much longer“

He had to suppress a laugh. As if the horses were the only ones who had had enough of this already. “What does the Lady suggest?” he almost shouted back over the rain. Was it even possible there was still a dry speck of earth left in this entire godforsaken green hell that was drowning them mercilessly?

“The Lady suggests shelter, of course” she laughed. _No belles_.

He nodded.

She turned back around and they continued riding. He was surprised they were still keeping to some kind of path. A path he could not see. He had to trust his horse to step carefully, had to trust the Lady not to kill them all.

Finally their little procession had stopped once more. Water was pooling at their feet rapidly. The Lady pointed to the right. Rumple could not see anything. Puzzled, he looked at her profile, their horses now side by side. The water touched his heels. What were they waiting for?

When she mouthed c-a-v-e, he understood. There had to be an opening where she had pointed. Maybe a bear’s den. He had to take her word for it, though. She inclined her head as if waiting for him, so he squeezed with his legs to signal his horse to move, but the animal refused the command. He tried again at which the horse danced back and forth on the spot nervously, splashing water. On the third attempt he reinforced the leg aid with the spores. Now they were moving.

Rumple understood why the horse had balked almost immediately after. They were not so much walking as they were swimming. The icy water rose to his knees, then his thighs. He could feel the change in movement when the animal lost its footing and began swimming in earnest. He let him have his head and tried to remain calm. He would only spook the poor boy further if he got anxious as well. Breathing evenly, he relaxed his muscles and then held tight. The water was at his waist now.

The palomino was swimming too, the Lady leaning on his neck, her shoulders almost entirely submerged in the dark water.

He only saw the den when they were standing directly in front of it. How she had been able to spot it from afar he did not understand. They dismounted. His legs wobbled under him. He was thankful for the solid ground under his feet. So was his horse, probably.

The cave was larger than one would have expected from its low and narrow opening. Once they had managed to lead the horses through it, the ceiling was high enough for the animals to stand without bumping their heads. There was enough space to fit the four of them and their belongings.

There was no mistaking the lingering stench – this was indeed a bear’s den, but the goodman seemed to have vacated the premises long ago. Only his smell and some straw remained.

Rumple began to unsaddle. The Dark Lady was already rubbing her horse down with straw. He could see her shiver. They were all dripping. Everything was dripping. If she was indeed such a powerful sorceress why didn’t she just magic them all dry and warm? It should only have taken her a flick of the wrist to get everyone comfortable again. He shrugged, put saddle and snaffle down and scooped up some straw himself. The smell was appalling, but at least it was dry.

Outside thunder boomed. They sat and waited in the cave’s semi-darkness. Rumple had checked the provisions. The bread was soaked mush, but the fruit was still good, so they helped themselves to that. She even shared her apples with her horse, which made him feel bad about only leaving the cores for his.

He wanted to ask her why she wasn’t making things easier with her magic – if not for him then at least for herself and the horses. She had been quick to suggest magic aid before their departure, but had not mentioned it since they had left. Maybe she wasn’t who she had claimed to be? But she definitely had some magic. He had seen it with his own eyes during their first encounter. He glanced over at her. She was hugging her knees to her chest, her entire body shivering. Judging by his own numb hands and feet and the overall bone-chilling cold he was feeling, she wasn’t doing much better. He was sure she would have done something about that by now if she could have.

Rumple looked around at the sorry pile of sodden baggage. Tents, blankets, bags - everything made of cloth was ruddy useless right now. They still had the rope, but no way of fastening it to the slick stonewalls for a clothesline. They needed to get out of the damp clothing clinging to their skin, but had nothing dry to replace it with. They had no dry wood or paper to start a fire – and even if they had had some, the fumes of an open fire in this cave would have killed them. So what else was there left to do, but to sit in freezing misery waiting for the feckin’ rain to stop.

Rumple took off his boots and wiggled his lifeless toes. Next he unbuckled the tassets and flung them aside, then he began fumbling with the breastplate buckles. His fingers were white and stiff and he muttered curses under his breath. All this steel and brass was a death trap. The weight had very nearly pulled him off his horse in the water. His shoulders were stiff. His back ached. He huffed in frustration and let his hands fall to his sides.

And there she was again, wordlessly undoing her work from that morning. He hadn’t heard her scoot closer. And just like he had that morning he kept very still for her, but his heart was only beating slightly faster now. Her hands were as cold as his and the water dripping from her hair was gelid. She was radiating dankness.

It was a relief to be able to shrug out of the doublet. The stuffing had become saturated with water and was twice its original weight. The rest of his garments he kept on despite their wetness.

She was still next to him, kneeling on the straw, her bottom on her heels. Their thighs were almost touching. The damp cloth of her cloak brushed against his shoulder. Why was she still wearing it? It too was completely drenched.

Rumple turned his torso towards her and reached for the clasp reflexively, then froze just short of actually touching it.

She had not flinched away. He searched her face and found permission in her eyes to proceed, so he opened it, lifted the fabric from her shoulders and placed it to his left beside the doublet. When he turned back, she leaned into him, her damp cold body pressing against his side.

 _Oh_? He blinked confusedly, too stunned to do more than breathe unevenly. This was wrong. Or was it? Animals huddled together for warmth in the underbrush if they were cold, didn’t they? Nothing wrong with trying to keep warm, was there? She was so pale and her lips so very purple that he wondered if she had been struggling more than she had let on. She wasn’t that dangerous after all – not like this, small and frozen half to death. There was nothing dark about her now.

When he awoke the rain had stopped. It was quiet. She was in his arms, her back to his chest. He felt her little movements as she breathed slowly and deeply, shoulders rising and falling. The Dark Lady was fast asleep. His left arm was numb, but he kept as still as he could not to disturb her. He could not remember falling asleep. How long had they been lying like this? Too close, too intimate. He could not remember the last time he had been this close to another human being (if she even was human) and it was almost too much to bear.

People at court were surprised when after a year or two he still hadn’t taken a new wife. It was custom to remarry shortly after the time of mourning had ended - especially if the widower was of high rank. He would seek out a young bride to give him more heirs and secure his position at court. Hopeful mothers had brought forth their high-born daughters and young ladies of other courts had been sent to King’s Court under various pretenses to catch his eye, but he had turned them all down. He did not want another wife. He did not need any more children.

People found it odd. They began speculating about his first wife’s fate and soon stories were circulating, whispered always behind reproached hand, that she had died a horrible death in an ogre attack – a sight that had scarred her husband for life and had instilled in him such a great despair and rage that he had sworn to kill every last ogre to avenge his beloved. The story had carried back to him so many times since their arrival at Court that he almost believed it himself. She was dead to him either way, so what did it matter how she had really died? It was easier to have her memory painted over by the extravagant tales than to face the truth. Bae did not remember his mother. Why not let him believe in the beautiful and brave story-version of her? What was the harm in letting him believe in a mother who had loved him so fiercely that she had chosen to give her own life to protect his?

All the loneliness in the world could not have moved him to take one of the gullible and superficial girls as his bride. They would never have loved him. They only fancied the idea of him. They wanted the security and wealth that would come with the union. They wanted to parade him around like a grand prize in their social circles. They wanted the shiny lies and not the man underneath the golden armor. He couldn’t blame them for it. Everyone had to play their parts.

He moved his arm from under her and pushed himself up into a sitting position. She was still sleeping when he slipped into his boots and stepped outside the cave, rope in one hand and a bundle of their damp things over his arm.

It had stopped raining. Most of the water was gone. Paths were slippery and muddy. It was hard to tell what time of day it was – or if it was day at all. The trees only allowed for a little light to break through. It could have been dawn, it could have been dusk. They would never have been able to tell the difference.

Rumple tied the rope between two trees and began hanging things up. After a little while the Dark Lady joined him and they worked side by side, putting their clothes and bags on the cloth line, then carrying heavy rocks to a spot to the right of the opening to create a fire pit. Few words were exchanged while they moved about - and none mentioning  their bodies’ proximity on the straw that night. They used said straw to kindle a small flame shortly after, roasting a trout as their meal. He had no idea how she had managed to catch it in the stream all by herself – and apparently with her bare hands.

By the time their belongings had dried and they were ready to leave the cave at last, Rumple was sick of the trout. They had had nothing to eat but trout for days. Though fish was better than nothing, he vowed to never ever have it again in his life after this journey would be over. Time and time again he wondered why the Dark Lady would not conjure up food or any other necessities and he was beginning to feel he might have been hoodwinked. Why would the most powerful sorceress in all the realms resort to a life of underdone fish and stream water? Had he imagined the silver thread, the harps and the bells?

They rode, set up camp someplace, roasted fish over open fire, slept (in safe distance from each other) and were back on their horses at the crack of dawn (or what he believed to be the crack of dawn. It was always dusky in the Dark Forest). His eyes had gotten used to the dark and the green. He didn’t even notice the mosquito and horse-fly bites anymore.

It took them almost another two weeks to reach the other end of the Dark Forest. Rumple very nearly whooped with joy when they broke through the last line of trees and had white sunlight blind them momentarily. The Dark Forest really did not carry its name for no reason; he knew that for a fact now. He had almost forgotten that there was a sun in the sky, a moon and stars. That there was more than dark green shadows, dirt and mud.

His eyes still watering from the sudden brightness of their surroundings, it took him a moment to notice that the Dark Lady was watching him. Her wide smile was contagious and he could not help but smile back at her. She seemed as relived as he was to have left the darkness behind them.

Without warning, the palomino suddenly dashed past him, galloping ahead and blowing up dust. Bewildered he spurred his stallion on to follow.

Before long there were trees over their heads again. Another forest, but friendlier than the last with more light and less vicious bugs to torment horses and riders. They even met other travelers now, but in their wretched state people were paying them no mind.

They only stopped to feed and water the horses during the day and slept very little at night. The Dark Lady seemed to be in a hurry. Maybe it was the nearby villages. People seemed to make her nervous. Rumple did not ask.

When they were pausing beside a little creek, sitting in the grass and talking while their horses gulped the fresh water, she suddenly shushed him and leapt to her feet. Bewildered he got up and drew his sword. He couldn’t hear anyone approaching, but clearly the Dark Lady must have heard something for she was listening intently. She put her hand on his and he lowered his weapon, waiting.

Then he heard it too. First it was only high-pitched whining. Then a horn sounded far away and Rumple’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest as horrible screaming pierced the forest’s silence. The sound made his hair stand on end. Someone was either being tortured or stabbed to death, which made him question why they were running towards the sound of murder and bloodshed instead of far far away from it, but he had no other choice. The Dark Lady apparently had decided that this was the way to go and he had sworn to protect her. So he ran. They would probably be too late to save whoever was screaming in agony and Rumple did not much fancy to face who or what was responsible for making them shout out like that - but could he really have ignored these cries if he had been given the choice to? Could he have sat idly, while a short distance away an innocent woman or child was losing their life?

He could not have been more wrong. When they arrived at the scene he wanted to laugh out of sheer relief. No monsters or killers were awaiting them, no blood had been spilled. Well, at least not much. Screaming bloody murder was a little red vixen caught in a bear trap. For such a tiny creature, Rumple thought, she was making one hell of a racket. If he had gotten his foot stuck in one of those iron traps, he would probably have screamed too, though.

The Dark Lady was already crouching next to the frightened animal and talking to it reassuringly. She examined the trap then turned around.

“Help me!”  

Rumple crouched down beside her. The animal looked at him with big eyes, but it had stopped screaming. He knew those kinds of traps. You had to depress the springs for the jaws to fall open. There was no way to pry open the jaws without depressing the springs first. He doubted his weight would be enough to do that, but stepped onto the two levers on the sides anyway. He used his whole body weight to press the levers down.

“Try opening it now – careful!”

She pushed the jaws open long enough for the vixen to free her leg, then the trap snapped shut again.

“Oh look at it, poor thing!” The Dark Lady scooped the panting animal up in her arms. Rumple could see its little heart beat frantically “We have bandages back with the horses. Let’s go!”

So they marched back the way they had come. Rumple almost had to jog after the Lady to keep up. How could someone so short walk that fast?

Back at the creek, Rumple watched her bind up the vixen’s leg wound carefully. The Dark Lady was trembling from head to toe, so it was hard to tell if the vixen itself was still shaking or not.

“M’lady?” he took a step closer to where she sat the vixen in her lap, and actually jumped back this time when she looked up at him.

“That thing was not some poor peasant’s rabbit snare - killing with humble hands out of necessity. It was intended to take a life purely for pleasure”

Her voice sounded like shattering glass and her eyes were so full of venom that it made his heart race. The young fox whimpered in her lap.

“That pleasure shall be all mine, should we come across the hunting party”

There was no mistaking the disdain and malice with which she spoke and he did not doubt for a second that the end those huntsmen in question would meet would be a most terrible one.

They left the fox in a hidden safe spot and kept riding. Rumple half expected to be on the hunt for huntsmen next. He kept shooting nervous glances at the Lady. She appeared calm and collected now, but her trembling hands were a telltale sign that, under the surface, she was still seething.

They ended up neither hunting down nor murdering anyone, for which Rumple was grateful, but the Dark Lady was not a pleasant companion to ride with during the days that followed the incident. Moody and irritable, he had to tread on eggshells around her not to have her snap at him or leave him standing in the middle of the woods like a lost mushroom while she stalked off somewhere to sulk and brood in silence for a few hours. Thankfully this did not last too long.

On the seventh day after they had rescued the vixen, they ran into more trouble in form of the local band of thieves and Rumple feared he would have to attempt to fight them off, but instead the lady of the group had taken pity on them and invited them back to their camp with them. He had heard tales of the Merry Men, of course, but was surprised to find they were actually being led by a woman. They learned that her husband had not survived his unfortunate encounter with a powerful witch a few years back and that his widow was in charge of the group until her young son would be old enough to take his father’s place. The men at camp gossiped like washwomen.

They were curious about the new arrivals in their midst and tried to wheedle their story out of them on more than one occasion, but after Rumple had spun them a wild tale about how they had fallen into disfavor through no fault of their own and fled persecution and would lose their heads if they revealed themselves, the men backed off respectfully. They would not rat out a fellow outlaw and his poor lady. It made him slightly uncomfortable how everyone just assumed that the lady by his side was his, but the Dark Lady did not challenge the presumption and so neither did he. It was a good cover after all.

They made good use of their time at camp – washing their garments and gear, grooming the horses and filling their bellies with something other than fish and berries. In return Rumple helped with repairs around camp and the Lady entertained the young lad with stories. The young boy seemed not be wary of her at all, Rumple thought watching him sit on her lap at the bonfire one night, him – and the entire crew of bandits - listening enthralled to her tales, hanging on her every word.

True, she looked nothing like the haughty intimidating woman he had encountered at the castle anymore. With her skin tanned and freckled, her shiny hair in a simple plait and her elegant gown swapped for simple cotton dresses, she looked like an ordinary woman. No hint of magic or danger about her. Just a pretty girl falling asleep next to him every night.

As more and more time passed, he began to enjoy life at camp. If only Bae had been here with him, he would not have minded staying for good. He felt more at ease here amidst the thieves, clutter and chickens than he ever had at court. Life out here was simple and honest.

He sat by their tent one early evening, patching up one of the Dark Lady’s dresses with needle and thread when she came strolling over to him carrying bowls and bread. She sat down next to him holding onto the steaming bowls until he had finished sewing the tear up.

“I did not know knights knew how to sew” she handed him one bowl of stew and held out the bread “Your needlework might even be better than my own. You have very steady hands.”

She batted her eyelashes at him and scooted closer to lean against him. Her fingers traced the stiches on her dress in his lap “Very gentle with the fabric”

Rumple blushed.

These days her closeness didn’t normally bug him anymore. Half the time he didn’t even notice how close she was - until she’d quip or tease him suggestively like this. It made his ears turn hot and red and would send heatwaves straight to his core. There was no mistaking her intent, but he refused to grab the bait. What a lovely bait it was though. She was all swinging hips, sucked in lips and suggestive shoulder glances around him recently. Fluttering hands, little touches and accidental brushes. He would have been a dead piece of driftwood not to notice.

And he wasn’t the only one. The other men at camp had too. They thumped him on the back on occasion or smirked appreciatively. None of them ever overstepped their boundaries, though. It was more like they were congratulating him on the good catch. Little did they know he was more the prey than he was the hunter.

He would let her snuggle up to him and run her fingers through his hair when they sat around the fire with everybody else, would let her take him by the hand and lead him back to their tent when the fire was burning low and people were retreating for the night, but the minute they were alone he would let go immediately- then lie next to her in the dark and try not to let his mind wander places it shouldn’t.

Maybe she only did it to keep up appearances. Maybe it was a trick or part of a test. Or maybe she simply enjoyed making him uncomfortable.

“I haven’t always been a knight, M’lady” he put the bowl down and took her hand, but before he could move it from his lap, she had laced their fingers together. He sighed.

“Something wrong, Lord Hand?” Her too blue eyes were wide and feigning innocence, but there was a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’m beginning to wonder…” she whispered close to his ear “if the Lord has ever touched a woman before?”

He almost knocked over his bowl. What? What kind of question was that? “I have a son” he said curtly and moved his hand away.

“My apologies, I did not mean to offend Your Lordship …” her voice was low and timid.

What now? Why was she so confusing?

“No offence taken, M’lady” he picked up his bowl again and she copied him.

They ate in silence for a while.

“Where is your boy now, my Lord? Is he safe and in good hands?”

Her face was sincere. He nodded. It could do no harm to let her know this. She posed no threat to his son “He will be well cared for until my return”

He had no reason to doubt that. He had the King’s word. The Court adored the boy. There was no reason to be worried, but he could not help it. He would only sleep peacefully again once they had been reunited and he would see for himself that no harm had come to the boy in his absence. He had been gone too long already. Days turning into weeks, weeks stretching into months as he had travelled. Also this new journey might be holding the key to his task, but it was also proving to be longer than he had anticipated. How much time had passed since they had left Avonlea? He wasn’t sure. He still did not know where they were going or what the point of this journey was.

She touched his shoulder “Would you like to continue our journey tomorrow, my Lord? If so, we should inform our gracious hosts of our imminent departure”

They did and gathered their belongings. Sat and laughed with everyone around the fire one last time and were gone the next morning before the sun had even risen. By the time the sky was turning a lighter shade of blue, they were already riding across a dry steppe and the trees of the forest had long disappeared behind them.

Ahead lay only vast, empty nothingness. No lakes, no trees, no towns – just earth and sand and dust crawling up their airways. Rumple already dreaded the heat that was about to come. Once the sun was high in the sky, it would burn their necks and faces mercilessly. There would be no shade, no refuge from it. They would have to keep going. He only hoped their water supplies would last them long enough. His mouth felt dry as sandpaper already.

Red-faced, their skin dry and sun-burned, they had finally made it to the Dwarvern Mountains just as the sun was setting. They stopped at a large freshwater lake too cool down, splash their faces and necks with water and refill their flasks.

A village was just visible across the water on the opposite shore. There would surely be a bed for rent there. Rumple could not wait. He was dusty and parched and his muscles ached from the long ride. They had spent too much time with the Merry Men and off their horses. He wasn’t used to the riding anymore – or the full armor.

They let the horses drink then continued around the lake on foot, leading their horses by the reins. The cool air felt like balm on the skin.


	4. Dark Light Dancing

When they reached the little tavern by the Dwavern Mountains night had long fallen and the only light was coming from illuminated cracked logs on either side of a trail guiding them to the entrance. Little flames were dancing inside the logs – they had to be magical fire for sure - to lick at the wood like that, but not burn it. Rumple and the Lady found a free spot and tied their horses to one of the shelters, then followed the path down further. Rumple could hear the crickets’ sounds mix with the laughter and music from within the place as they came closer.

The Dark Lady pulled her hood up and fastened it, pushing flyaway strands of hair under the fabric. Was she trying to hide from curious eyes inside? Rumple looked at her, hand pausing on the door, then pushed it open and held it for her.

The place was loud and packed with all kinds of people. Mugs were slammed on tables, people were shouting and singing and dancing.

Rumple stepped closer to the Lady protectively as they made their way through the crowd. People were not paying attention. What if they didn’t see her – one of the tall pissed half-wits could accidentally squish her if he stumbled backwards at the wrong moment.

“What can I do for you?”

A plump, round-faced landlady greeted them from behind the bar shouting over the hubbub. She went into her usual speech on specials and room rates, barely looking up from the jug she was trying to clean with a filthy rag that probably did matters more harm than good. Then she looked up at them and Rumple saw the color draining from her rosy cheeks in a flash.

“Oh, oh my” the jug slipped from her hands and fell back into the sink, splashing dirty dishwater on her apron. “Lord Hand, what an honor, we weren’t expecting Your Lordship tonight” She was fussing with her apron “How can we be of service to you this fine evening, Your Grace?” Flustered and breathless she looked up at him.

“If you would be so kind as to have one of your upstairs rooms prepared for the night…”

She was snapping her fingers at one of her girls before he had even finished his sentence. The girl gaped at him for a second then dashed off upstairs.

“…and I and the Lady would be forever grateful for a good meal and some refreshment, if it’s not too much trouble.”

She went even paler upon noticing the Dark Lady standing by his side. She bowed quickly and clumsily not daring to look too closely. The Dark Lady gave the smallest of nods barely moving her head at all, but did not speak.

“Yes, yes of course” More finger-snapping, more gaping and running. “Would Your Lordship and his Lady prefer to dine down here or should everything be brought up to the room?”

He had opened his mouth to tell her to have everything send upstairs and to thank her for her kindness, but the band had chosen that exact moment to start playing a fiddle jig and he changed his mind on a whim. Maybe some music _would_ be nice.

“There will be no need. If you could direct us to a free table that should suffice for now, thank you”  

He had to bite back a laugh. The Dark Lady, tiny terror of the realms was actually stepping on his foot – as subtle as possible, of course. She did not want to draw attention to herself or speak, apparently, but even if she had chosen to say something, there wasn’t much she could do about anything right now. As the high-born lady she was pretending to be, she could not contradict him or take issue with his decisions – at least not publicly. He was the Hand of the King, a respectable man – or so the people thought – and such conduct on her part would be deemed inappropriate and unacceptable. Rumple decided she could yell at him later.

He smiled to himself as the landlady (who he learned was called Rosemary, or Rose for short) led them to a round table in the far right corner. People were hastily stepping out of the way, almost falling over one another to make room, as they passed. They stared and whispered. The band had stopped playing. He signaled them lazily to resume, which they hastened to do.

The Dark Lady tightened her grip on his arm “Enjoying yourself, _my Lord_?” she hissed under her breath.

He led her to her seat and helped her into it “Maybe” He smiled at her as he sat down opposite “Does the Lady not enjoy the music? I am sure the gentlemen would be honored to play whatever she fancied.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again and narrowed her eyes.

The song changed and a young pretty bar-maid brought a bellied cupper wine jug and goblets. She did not speak and kept her eyes downcast as she poured the first two cups – first for the Lady then for him.

The Dark Lady raised her goblet “To Your Lordship’s health” she said and smirked. He raised his own goblet to touch it with hers and ignored the jab. If she wanted to truly do him harm, she would have done so long ago.

Before his goblet had even touched his lips, she had knocked back hers in one go. Rumple gaped at her. Well, that was unexpected. He set his goblet back down to pour her some more wine.

People seemed to have recovered from the shock of their presence for the noise level was reaching maximum again.

“It’s the Ogre-Slayer!” people were saying “The King’s Hand is here!” and “Who is that with him?”

He tried his best to ignore those snippets of conversations he could not help but overhear (because they were shouted over the span of multiple tables rather than spoken in a civilized manner) that were about him, about them, and enjoy the music instead.

 _Ogre-Slayer_ \- the name left a bad taste in his mouth. He hated that name. He hadn’t slayed anyone or anything. He had just grabbed a blunt rusty sword and run through the forest like a bloody suicidal fool.

He had attacked one of the ugly monstrosities with the useless blade, so much was true, but the creature probably hadn’t felt more than a slight pinch and would have killed him on the spot, if one of his mates hadn’t chosen that exact moment to come running and tackle the first one to the ground. All he had had to do was watch as they had ripped each other to shreds. Then he had dragged the children out from under the rubble. It was nothing but his damn luck that they had not been harmed.

More ogres came storming through and he had stared after them leaning on his sword for support to keep from passing out. Then he had quickly scooped the semi-conscious girl up in his arms and helped a dizzy, but finally fully conscious Bae to his feet, so they could get the hell away from whatever was going on. Before they could, however, the riders had appeared – armed knights, the King’s Guard.

And that had been that. Before he knew what was happening, the children had insisted that it had been him who had saved them by killing the massive beasts that lay dead and bloody at everyone’s feet. They swore they had seen him do it with their own eyes. So did one of the riders who had been at the front of the group and now claimed he had seen him chase more ogres away from the scene.

Rumple had tried to correct the false accounts, but his voice got drowned out in the overall chaos.

When the King himself had arrived, it was too late to set the record straight. The girl he had found with his son had been none other than the crown Princess, who was now telling her shaken father all about how her mare had bolted in fright and thrown her off and how the boy - meaning his Bae - had come running when he had heard her scream and had so very bravely tried to fight the beast off. Now that the danger had passed, the young Princess was alive with excitement, the words tumbling from her mouth and running together.  

“The Ogre-Slayer, huh?”

Rumple gave a start at the Dark Lady’s voice and came back to present day. The Lady smirked at him “Well, I guess it’s easy enough to call yourself that when there are no more ogres” she downed another cup.

“I am not calling myself that, they are” he grumbled and washed down the bitterness with his own wine. It wasn’t the best he had ever tasted, but anything would do if the goal was to get hammered.

Two bar-maids served up their food. It was nothing fancy - simple but substantial. A vegetable soup served with slices of warm bread and salted butter, a gorgeous succulent roast with mashed potatoes, gravy and red cabbage. Everything smelled delicious.

“The Madam says to tell Your Grace to let her know if there is anything else she can do for the Lord Hand and his Lady” one of the girls said. She had a pretty face and beautiful black curls. Rumple smiled at her and nodded. She peered into the wine jug “I will see to it that this gets refilled, Your Grace” She leaned over the table to reach for the jug, her skirt riding up her legs.

At the other side of the table, the Dark Lady pushed down her hood. Rumple shifted his attention to her. “M’lady” he said, toasting her again. They both emptied their goblets.

While they ate the tavern was filling up, soon bursting at the seams with more and more new arrivals. It appeared that everyone and their crookback auntie had now heard the news that their hero was in town. Madame Rosemary was probably making the deal of her life right about now. Rumple couldn’t care less about it all and about all of them. He hated the whole fake lot. The only person he hated more was probably himself.

The raven-haired girl was back with their wine. Rumple took the jug from her, fake bowing in his seat in thanks and the lass giggled. She turned to leave and twirled around a couple of times to the beat of the music, her curls and dress flying about her, earning her appreciative clapping and whistling from the male filth in the vicinity.

The Dark Lady tsked impatiently.

Rumpled knocked back another goblet of the sweet summer wine and watched people dance as a new fast jig came on. The raven-haired girl and her friend were dancing too, arms linked and going in circles, until a very red-faced and puffing Madame Rose came at them with her rag and dish towel – to everyone’s amusement, but the girls’. Rumple laughed, tapping his foot in accordance with the song’s rhythm.

Someone took his hand. “My Lord, if I may?” The Dark Lady had risen from her seat and walked around the table and was now leading him onto the dancefloor by both his hands. _Hell no_. He shook his head, equally bemused and bewildered, but let her anyways. Awed, people moved aside to let them pass until they were in the heart of the crowd.

She held onto his hands and began to dance, pulling him with her. Before he had truly realized what was happening, they were jumping and jigging and spinning around with everyone else. The band played loudly and boisterously and the music and laughter seemed to fill Rumplestiltskin up to the brim. He laughed and whirled the Lady around and around by her waist. Her hair was flying, a whirlwind of dark red flames and smooth chocolate. He only had eyes for her now.

He had to steady her after, her whole body – warm and soft – pressed into his, her hands around his neck. On and on they went, the crowd cheering and clapping, tapping feet and slamming fists. Mugs crashed, beer spilled, curses flew – and so did skirts and the ladies wearing them. People had officially stopped giving a rat’s ass about anything.

Panting, sweating and laughing they crashed into a chair. She was on his lap, straddling him and giggling into his neck. The room was spinning. Her hair smelled like honey and vanilla with a top note of malt and common hop. He had to close his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, she was looking at him through her long lashes – all high eyebrows and bedroom eyes. He felt his bulge strain against his pants and armor and cussed loudly. This was a very, very bad idea – but then again, could anything be worse than running into an ogre-infested forest brandishing a sword that wasn’t even fit to cut a loaf of bread? Surely this wouldn’t be the stupidest thing he had ever done compared to that.

He was still trying to get a grip on his surroundings and the situation in his pants when she led him up the steps to the rooms. How did she even know which one was supposed to be theirs for the night? Rumple had no clue.

They stumbled inside and onto the bed. He had to make up his mind about this now and fast. Her hands were already busy with the buckles of his armor. He gulped.

“Damn” she bit her lip then rolled off him, seized by a violent case of the giggles. “Fucking buckles!” She covered her face with her hands and groaned in frustration.

Rumple shrugged, more mentally than physically. Plans thwarted by metal death trap, apparently.  


	5. A Witch’s Promise

He would never have another sip of wine for as long as he lived, Rumple thought, his head throbbing painfully. The back and forth motion of his horse was not helping matters either. He felt positively sea-sick. A quick glance at the Dark Lady told him that she wasn’t faring much better, which was at least some consolation.

They had left the Dwarvern Mountains behind them, passed by the King’s Summer Palace and were riding for trees again. He had not realized how close to the Royal Castle they must be, until he had spotted the turrets of the Summer Palace. Where the actual fuck where they going? He’d ask her – now, once and for all.

“Where are we going, does the Lady even know that herself?”

She made a face then glared at him “If the dear gentleman must know” she pointed ahead “we are almost there - if he would bother to open his eyes and look properly”

It was his turn to glare, but he squinted ahead in the direction she had pointed in either way. He saw trees. More trees. Then water. Another lake. Their destination was a bloody lake?

“Lake Nostos” she said.

Rumple willed his brain to work with him on this one. He had heard that name before, but where?

Then it hit him like a bucket of bricks. Lake Nostos. He had heard stories about that place. The water had magical healing properties. It restored health. He wondered what ailment she was seeking relief from. What was it that her own magic could not cure?

Or maybe this still wasn’t about the destination, but about the journey they had completed to get here. Also, his theory that it was all part of a huge – but admittedly slightly twisted – test still stood. He wondered if he had passed it. If it was no test, but a trick or trap, he was stumbling right into it blindly at this very moment.

The water would heal, restore health that was lost, return good health to the drinker. _Restore, return_. The water returned something that was lost, Rumple thought with a jolt and smacked his hand against his forehead in his mind. Of course!

If he took some of the water, he could use it to fulfil his task. He wouldn’t even need the spell or the book to do it anymore. All he needed was a little bit of that sparkly, colorful water, swirling in spirals in the lake right ahead of him. He could return home with a jar and hand it to Sir Maurice. The old man could then use the water himself to have what he lost returned to him by power of the water’s magic. If he filled a simple glass jar, he could go home. Only a few drops and he would be able to see Bae again. Rumple’s heart leapt with joy at the thought.

They came to a halt at the water’s edge. The Dark Lady bent down to get something from her saddle bags and Rumple could not believe his eyes when it was indeed a glass jar. A simple one, medium-sized with a screw-on lid. He stared at it. Was she giving him the water? He did not dare to hope it. Maybe he could ask her to do just that, though? Alter their bargain? Swap the promised spell for the water? There was so much of it - she would not mind if he took some of it too, would she?

“Alright” she said briskly “Now all there is left for you to do is to fill this jar with lake water and hand it back to me. Then you shall receive the spell you asked for”

Rumple dismounted and took the jar from her. Should he ask her now? Later? What if she declined his request? Could he keep the water and make a run for it or would she put a magic arrow through his back if he tried?

He knelt down and unscrewed the lid, took a deep breath and dunked the jar into the water.

The water was mesmerizing. Twinkling pale shades of violet, purple, pink and blue swirling in a clockwise motion in their see-through confinement. Was it possible to bottle light, because that seemed to be exactly what it was? Light and sparkle and a whole galaxy trapped inside a fruit jar. Rumple hastily screwed the lid back on before any of it could escape and evaporate into thin air.

He straightened up and held the jar tightly to his chest. A sense of gravity, joy, unreserved readiness and fear washed over him as he stood on trembling knees. He would not hand over that jar.

He looked up at the Dark Lady on her horse. He was very sorry, but he would have to break their deal. She could just dismount, conjure up another jar and fill it with water if she wanted to. She had magic. For him this was a once in a lifetime chance to make things right, to end the struggle for good and reunite two families at once. He would grab that chance and hold tight.

She cocked her head and studied him. Her face clouded over.

His gut was telling him to run and to do it now.

She looked at him imploringly.

He was almost ready to bolt.

Before he could do so, she was in his face “Wrong move, knight” her eyes were pitch-black holes. The bottomless ocean was staring out at him from their sockets, a cold and silent nothingness so deep and deadly that all life seized to exist once it got sucked in “and do you know what happens to white knights who make a wrong move?” She ran a finger along his jaw line and down his throat “The black queen will win against them and swipe them off the board”

Rumple stumbled backwards and reached for his sword only to realize he had left it with his horse. She laughed a toneless laugh. He could see the blood rushing through the veins in her face. The red was clearly pronounced and visible again.

“So that is the kind of man you are” she hissed “A liar, a thief and a coward” she ticked each word off on her fingers as she spat them “posing as a honorable knight in shining armor. What a fine Lord you make. Really, you fit in perfectly with the rest of them.”

She took another step towards him “What a shame, really. I was beginning to like you”

His horse reared behind him and sped off in the direction they had come from.

He was sure she would strike at any moment now. He squeezed his eyes shut and held out the jar.

“What, now you’re handing it over?” she jeered “To bad for you that it is useless” She took it from him and poured the contents out at his feet.

Had this been the test he had suspected all along? If so he had just failed it with flying colors and would probably pay for his mistake with his life. Maybe he had remembered the story wrong – or maybe it had just been that, a story, a neat little tale that held no truth. Was he about to lose his life over a jar of plain water from some ordinary lake in a common forest?

“You ruined it!” she threw the jar and it shattered into a thousand pieces “That tale you spun me about the girl you wanted to bring home to a father on his deathbed, was that a lie?”

He shook his head, too scared to speak.

“Then why did you want the water for yourself _so badly_?” she shrieked “Why did you have to spoil it with your greedy little thoughts?” She rolled her eyes up toward the sky briefly as if to collect herself. Rumple noticed she was trembling again – just like she had been when they had found the hurt vixen. “I would have kept my word and given you the spell you wanted! Why was that not enough?”

“C-Couldn’t you just get more water from the lake?” he stammered.

Apparently exasperated she covered her face with her hands “That was the whole point - don’t you get it, _Your Lordship_?!” The title was meant to insult him now “I can’t get that water, _myself_. Why else would I put up with dragging unworthy mortal _vermin_ like you all the way up here?”

She had wanted to use that water. That meant it actually worked - but only if you had someone else get it for you? Or if you got it for someone else?

“Who did you want to heal?” he asked.

She took her hands down “Excuse me?”

Rumple held his breath for two seconds, then exhaled. If she wasn’t in it for the healing, she was playing a morbid game of lost and found, just like he was. No earthly possession was worth all the trouble they had gone through during the past months, though. It had to be a person.

“Who did you lose?”

She let out a cry that reminded him of the vixen’s and had him pinned to the ground before he could do so much as blink. Right question, but boy had he been wrong to ask it. Her face was inches from his now, her teeth bared, and one hand closing around his throat. The anger of a wounded animal.

He had to think animal. Had to remain calm and reassuring. Her hand around his throat made it impossible for him to speak, so he tried to express himself through his eyes. He stared directly into hers, trying not to lose himself in the back abyss. He thought of her braiding his stallion’s mane in the stables, of her beautiful face in the sunlight, of the freckles that made him wonder about the little girl she must once have been. He thought of her back against his chest sleeping and of her hands around his neck when they had danced. He remembered her laugh and the softness in her voice when she had spoken to the vixen. She was no evil witch, no beast. She was gentle and kind and he had betrayed her trust.

His head was swimming. He could not breathe. Darkness was closing in around him.

 _It’s alright_ , the thought. _I am sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t my intention. Please understand. I was just missing somebody I love more than anything else in the world. You know what that’s like, don’t you? That’s why you are doing this. You feel it too. It’s alright, I understand and I am sorry. If you wish to kill me, I cannot stop you, but please consider allowing me to live, so I can go back to my son. His name is Baelfire. I would beg, if that changed anything. You know that, right? Please don’t inflict that kind of pain on a child … please._

Something flickered in the void. He had almost missed it. There was life even where the waters were darkest; he just had to believe in it. Just as he felt himself sinking to the bottom like a heavy rock, he pushed up on last time and broke through the surface, gulping air. She had let go of him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly to slow his frantic heart down to a normal rhythm.

When he opened them again and sat up tentatively, she was gone – and so was her palomino. He was lying on green grass. There were trees around him. The lake was gone. He spun around. He knew those Mountains. Those were the Troll Mountains that surrounded the Royal Castle from all sides but one – and that was his stallion grazing peacefully, just a few yards away. She had sent them home.


	6. Kill Of The Night

She was running through the hallways until her lungs burned. Maybe if she kept running, maybe if she ran fast enough she could outrun them. Maybe they would leave her alone. She pressed her palms to her eyelids, colors and patterns dancing behind her eyes. Why did they have to be so loud? Why were there so many? All the screaming and pleading was driving her insane – and then there was the crying. The crying had to stop.

It was burning her alive from the inside out until she was an ashen ghost, less than a shadow, held together by thin patches of skin that were stretched so tightly at the corners that they were threatening to rip open and expose her burnt remains to the rough marine winds at any given moment.

She clutched at her heart. The flames were licking at it maliciously.

Where was the door? She could not find the door. It had to be here somewhere. She could taste the salt in the air. It tickled her nose. If she pressed her ear against the cool rough stone wall, she could hear the angry waves clash into the rocky shore outside. Before her inner eye she saw the water - the terrible storm in the sea and the single ship dancing on top of piled waves in wild winds. She let the tide rock her back and forth, cradle her close, to calm down. She had to will the voices away, but she was so tired of fighting them.

Sliding down the eroded wall she felt even the finest irregularities on the surface with her fingertips. She tried to count the number of craters in her head, their sizes ranging from tiny and hardly visible to the eye to large enough to let the fly foam through. If she concentrated hard enough on the little bumps and holes, the spinning sensation would stop. Floors would be down and ceilings would be up for just a little while. The walls would stop closing in on her.

She could push herself back up then, the little window of clarity allowing her to think and locate what she was looking for. If she found the green door, she would be safe.

The voices would not vanish completely when she was surrounded by her dearly treasured books, but somehow the proximity to print and paper made the noise inside her head more bearable. Belle liked to think that the books were shielding her, protecting her from losing that last bit of gravity that was keeping her in her body. Books were her lifeline and anchor. Books were warmth and love and caring. Books were her father - and more than anything else, books were her mother.

Whenever she picked up a book and lost herself in the words, her mother’s voice would join the others. She alone knew how to tame them, make them soft. Sometimes she even made them disappear. Belle would talk to her sometimes, but she had long learned that she could not ask questions.

When she burst through the green doors now, slamming them shut behind her, the screaming had followed her inside. She did not understand. She opened a random book, but could not make out any of the words. The letters were dancing before her eyes. The crying grew louder in her head again. Her mother was nowhere to be found. She tried to listen for her familiar voice among the noise, but instead she heard another – low and soft.

“M’lady?”

She threw her book at it. Then another. It landed open on the floor.

 _Liar, thief, coward_. She had spared his life for his child’s sake. She would not burden herself with the guilt of having knowingly taken away a child’s father or mother. Monster or not, she would not leave orphans in her wake if she could help it. No fate was worse than waiting for the return of a parent in vain, not knowing and being left alone and wondering. The children were innocent.

“Dark One!” The voices screamed “Dark Lady, please hear us!”

She groaned. Why were people screaming so much? They made her angry. What did they all want? The crying and wailing would very nearly split her scull open. Everyone wanted magical solutions to their problems, but no one was ready to pay the price. Why couldn’t she make them go away? All the non-stop commotion in her head was so exhausting. She was sad and she was tired and she had no energy left to fight them to the rim of her consciousness.

“Always be kind, Belle”

Her eyes flew back open. _Mother_.

“But I am so tired” she thought.

“There, there, things never seem quite so bleak after a good story” Her mother’s voice said.

Belle ignored her advice. “You aren’t even here” she thought angrily “Why are you not here, mother? Why did you leave me here like this? Where did you go?”

There was no answer. Her mother never answered if she asked her questions. Especially not these questions. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe the magic did not allow it. It was probably the magic that was keeping them apart. Maybe her mother had been cursed to another realm by whoever had turned Belle into this monster. All she remembered was that she had woken up in the gardens like this one day, covered in soil, and that her mother had been gone.

Maybe the magic was also the reason all her attempts to get the water from Lake Nostos had failed. You could not travel there by magic, if you wanted the water to work. That much her books had told her. You also had to be of good intent and kind heart and never wish to use the water’s powers for your own personal gain.

All she wanted was her mother back. To know what had happened to her. To know how she herself had been turned into the creature she was now. She just wanted to understand. Apparently the lake considered that selfish. She had tried so many times.

She knew her father had fallen in the last ogre war. His brooch was in her mother’s old music box. They only sent those back to the families if a soldier had died. They were unique. Belle could have painted it from memory if she had been asked to. Her father had worn it at home all the time.

Yet there was not so much a hint as to what had happened to her mother in the entire castle. She was just gone.

She had been so close this time. Fresh anger flared up inside of her. This knight had seemed so different. A little shy, a little afraid, but good-hearted and sincere. He had been kind. He had not shied away from her or his word to her. He had made the voices go away. If only for a little while, he had made her feel almost human again.

Rumplestiltskin had not been looking for glory or riches or a pretty little wife. He had just wanted to reunite a family and in turn be reunited with his. He had seemed perfect for the task and she had allowed herself to hope – and then he had disappointed her at the very last moment and broken his oath to her out of greed.

People could not be trusted. Not with magic. It turned them into ugly creatures. It whispered to their hearts to want, to want more, to want it all.

Had she been so wrong about him? Was she really that easily fooled? It certainly seemed so.

Maybe she should just give up. Maybe she should stop fighting the gaping hole in her chest and the voices in her head. Maybe she should stop being kind. Maybe she was supposed to be cruel and beastly and alone. Maybe her mother had left her by choice. Maybe her mother was long dead.

The greedy humans kept calling for her.

Sometimes she would answer them. If she got too lonely, sometimes there was something about a voice that made her curious to seek the caller out. Other times she appeared to them, simply to scare them and have some peace of mind when they stopped demanding things from her. Who had told people that she would be the one to call when they were desperate anyway? Wasn’t that what fairies and fairy Godmothers were for? She hadn’t seen either for a very long time, though. Maybe they had left the realm. Those things happened.

She did not answer any of the calls tonight. The human voices calling out for her, a constant buzzing in her mind, she tried to drown them out as best as she could, drifting off into fitful sleep every now and then, a book in her lap.

But then there was another voice amongst all the noise, a different voice – high and urgent and non-human. Belle directed her thoughts towards it to hear it more clearly.

“Miss” it was saying “kind and powerful Miss, please come and find me here. I have urgent tidings to report. Find me before it is too late!”

Belle sat up straighter “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Miss, please come quick. Bring your weapon or the blade will die. There is nothing I can do. The night is dark and will soon be red”

Belle furrowed her brow. While humans flat out requested and demanded, animals always spoke in riddles. This one was especially cryptic and extremely agitated.

“Who will die?”

“He who freed the prisoner is trapped and will die”

Belled scrambled to her feet. Animals of the forest had a life for a life rule. If you saved theirs, they would repay the favor one day. Apparently that day was today. She rushed over to the music box. She had placed it next to her mother’s favorite books. Besides holding her father’s brooch, it was also home to the dagger. It must have been her mother’s even if she had never seen it outside of the music box before. It had a curved, double-edged damask blade ribbed at the center and the grip and scabbard were jade green and entirely decorated with delicate colorful flowers.

Belle grabbed it and held it tight. There was no time to get Philippe. She concentrated hard on the corner of her mind the non-human voice had come from “Little friend, where to?” she thought and immediately felt a tug at her center.

At first she saw nothing. Then she spotted the little vixen cowering in the underbrush. Upon seeing her, it dashed off as fast as it could. Belle assumed that she would have to go in the opposite direction. She listened intently, but his voice was not among those calling out for her.

She would have to do this the other way around. She closed her eyes and tried to picture his face. She had always liked his eyes the most. They always told a story. She wondered if he knew that. It was easy to read him that way. Every emotion, every thought was on display, if only you caught the right moment to look. She tried to picture his eyes now. They were probably wide in surprise, shock or fear. She reached for his face in her mind, cupped it in her hands and gazed into his eyes.

She stood knee deep in icy dark water. The moonlight illuminated the shore. The gold of his armor stood out against the white pebbles. Only most of them weren’t white anymore. Belle rushed forward.

“No, no, no” she flew to his side and sank to her knees next to his still form, her hands flying to his face. “Rumplestiltskin!”

He did not open his eyes.

Why was he only wearing his breast plate? And why was it covered in blood? What had happened?

Blood was gushing from a deep neck wound. Something had tried to tear his neck to pieces, probably aiming for his arteries. Belle stopped the bleed with her hands, channeling her magic into them to close it up. He had lost a lot of blood, his carotid pulse was a weak flutter, but it was there.

She had to get him out of his breast armor to help him breathe. She unbuckled by magic, but then reached for the plates herself. If he had injured his chest or broken a rib, she had to be careful and proceed slowly, not to damage any vital organs. She lifted the front plates cautiously. The doublet was soaked with blood from his neck. She undid the seams by magic and took it off as well. His breathing was shallow. She scanned his upper body for injuries with her hands, then proceeded to heal the scratches and bites on his arms and legs.

When she reached for his right arm, she noticed the scattered shards of glass. She picked one large shard up and held it to her face to examine it more closely. It shimmered in the dark. She looked back at the rest on the ground. There was a lid.

Oh, _no_.

She hadn’t even noticed.

She looked at her hands, covered in his dried blood. Tears were rushing to her eyes. Belle scrambled to her feet and ran back to the water. It was black, the color so deep and opaque that it swallowed all the moonlight. She immersed her hands and forearms briefly. The skin turned as black as the night sky. It was covered with tiny silver specks sparkling like stars.

She brushed her hands dry on her dress and everything fell of like fine dust.

What was he doing here? She had sent him back home to his son! Why had he returned to this place?

It was her fault. She had kindled his interest in the lake’s water. He was only a poor mortal man. Maybe he had not been able to stay away from the temptation. Maybe he had decided to try again and get water for himself – or to get some for someone else. Maybe he had planned to give the now broken jar to the sick father whose daughter he was supposed to find. Maybe he had thought the water would buy the man and him more time, make it more likely that he would live to see his child again. That was a real possibility. It sounded like something Rumplestiltskin would do.

If he had died here tonight, had bled out on the shore alone, it would have been entirely her fault. She would have been the reason his son would have had to grow up without a father - She and her useless magic water. Maybe her wishes were selfish.

She fell to her knees at his side again and put her head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

Such a silly foolish knight. What recklessness to come here on his own at night! Magical sights always attracted all kinds of sinister creatures – especially after daylight was gone. Any of them could have killed a mortal man with ease – and probably with much pleasure too.

She only had a second’s warning before the beast pounced. Belle turned on her back, shielding the knight’s body with her own and drew her dagger. As the massive creature came flying towards them in one giant leap, fangs and claws bared, she held up the blade and sliced it open lengthwise. They were doused with its warm and sticky blood, before it splashed into the shallow water. Belle coughed and wiped her face with her arm. _Gross_. She checked Rumplestiltskin’s pulse again. Still weak.

They had to get out of here. She wanted to transport them someplace safe by magic, but nothing happened. It didn’t work. Bewildered she looked over at the heap of fur bleeding dry in the water.

The _water_. Did it work on animals?

Before she could contemplate dragging it back ashore – just to be safe – or figure out what was going on with her magic, she heard the growling and spun around. Several pairs of yellow eyes glowed in-between the trees. A pack – and it was closing in on them.  


	7. The Letter

> _My Love,_
> 
> _The North has fallen. They are coming. I am sorry I cannot be there to protect you. This weapon – I don’t trust anyone with it but you. You will know what to do. Know that I love you with all my heart, forever. Keep our beautiful Belle safe and prepare for the worst._
> 
> _\- M._

The note had come with his golden brooch and a package. Something hastily wrapped in rags and tied with leather lace. She had almost dropped it when she had realized what it was. The dagger. It actually existed. The blade to wield the darkness.

The Lady of Avonlea had pinned the brooch to her dress over her heart and sent for the ships to be readied at once. They had to be prepared to set sail immediately. She had hastily sent a bird to her cousin across the sea at Arendelle informing her that they would be on their way. She would send her daughter and her maids, together with their most valuable books from the library, to the Arendelle Court aboard the first ship. Sonia would take care of Belle. They were family.

She herself would remain at Avonlea and try to put an end to the terror and bloodshed if she could. She would call upon the darkness and have it combust and implode on itself. It would take its horrible creatures to the fiend fires of the netherworld with it.

Colette instructed the maids to start packing up Belle’s clothes and went to search the rose gardens for her daughter. Belle loved to sit out by the old fountain and read. Sometimes Colette even found her lying amidst the flowerbeds reading under the cover of blossoms and twigs. My little wild flower, she called her. But today her dear little flower was nowhere to be seen. Where had she  gone? She had been told not to stray too far from the castle. Times were dangerous, even down here in the South. She shielded her eyes against the sun and called out again. No answer.

Colette hurried through the entrance hall and into the yard. Lysanne, the stable master’s daughter, had seen Belle take her Philippe out for a ride this morning. She would tell the riders to go after them and bring her home.

Just when she had reached the stables, hooves thundered on the cobblestone.

“Mother!”

Belle reined in hard next to her, her hair falling to her face. She had rolled up her sleeves and the hem of her dress was soaked and soiled with damp sand. She had taken off her shoes, her feet bare and black from the beach.

“Belle” Colette helped her slide off the palomino’s bare back and held her by the shoulders “word came from the North”

Her daughter’s eyes flickered from her face to the brooch and her hands flew to her mouth “No!” her face crumpled. Colette hugged her close.

“My dear Belle” she cupped her face and brushed the tears off Belle’s cheeks with her thumbs “there isn’t much time” she said “We will have to leave in the morning”

Belle had cried and then cried some more when she had been told that they were to leave Avonlea and sail for a new home the next morning. She cried for her fallen father and for the only home she had ever known – a home that she would have to leave behind forever come morning. She cried for the roses and trees and for her dear Philippe who would be sent off with the rest of their horses and stock with their former servants, once they had left.

Colette had not told her that she would be going alone or that the war was already at their doorstep. Belle was upset and frightened enough as it was. She would be out of harm’s way very soon – that was the only thing that mattered.

The warning had reached them too late, their preparations had been in vain.

They were in the library, filling the heavy chests up with books to be carried to the harbor, when the belles sounded in the village. They were here. Already. There was no time left. They were trapped between the fast approaching flood of beasts on one side and rough sea on the other with only one thing left to do – hide. Hide and pray. She grabbed Belle by the hand and they ran to the back. Behind the last bookcase to the left bricks were missing from the inner wall which created a large enough gap between the stone and the rows of books to squeeze yourself into and be concealed from view.

The ogres came blasting through the doors. They could not see them in their hiding place, but they could still smell and hear them - even if they held their breaths and kept as still as possible, the danger was not over.

Furniture was hauled across the floor and thrown aside. Chairs and tables and stools smashed into shelves and walls. Bookcases were overthrown one after the other. They heard them crash to the floor, heard the books tumble and scatter and the wood crack.

The monsters came closer and closer. Colette felt her daughter’s grip tighten on her arm.

“It’s going to be alright” she whispered.

The moment she saw the big hands reach for their bookcase, she knew it wouldn’t.

The ogre shoved the tall case aside and roared. Belle shrieked. Colette stepped in front of her and drew the dagger from under her dress. It was a blade – even if it also wielded a faceless dark entity. She wasn’t sure how to call upon it and would not attempt to do so while her daughter was near, but she could still use the weapon itself to try and inflict damage on the ugly creature in front of them. She had to aim for the eyes. With ogres you always had to aim for the eyes. 


	8. Broken and Naked

> _She was running for the green door again, the walls crumbling around her. The floors were shaking. She had to get to the door before they did. She had to warn her mother. They were here, they were coming. They had to hide._
> 
> _She grabbed the golden doorknobs and pushed. Cold water washed around her feet. Water in the library? How was there water in the library? She looked down and screamed, but no sound came out. The entire floor was flooded with blood._
> 
> _She called out for her mother, wading through the red, and tried to locate her between the bookshelves. The rows would not end, the shelves grew taller and taller and she felt the panic rise inside her. There was no time. They were coming._
> 
> _Her mother was on her back on the floor, reading a book._
> 
> _Belle fell to her knees at her side and tugged on her arm trying to get her to move. They had to hide._
> 
> _“Mother!” she panted “Please, mother!”_
> 
> _Her mother turned her head to look at her. Her eyes were not her mother’s eyes. Her voice was not her mother’s voice as she spoke: “Why?”_
> 
> _She lowered her book and Belle saw the damask blade quiver in her chest._

Rumplestiltskin hurried to her bedside when she screamed. She must have been dreaming again. He had not known that the Dark One could dream, but then – he also hadn’t known she could bleed and die just like everyone else. He was very sure she almost had died that morning at the lake.

When he had come to, groggy and disoriented, she had been lying across his chest clutching a bloody dagger in her right hand. Blood had gushed from her middle and angry deep claw marks had covered every inch of visible skin. Most of her dress had been torn away.

Around them had lain the carcasses of seven ginormous direwolves with their throats cut.

He still did not know what had happened. He remembered one wolf attacking him as he was filling up his jar, remembered the feeling of fangs digging into his neck, but that could not have happened.

Save for his right arm, there hadn’t been a single scratch on him. Surely, if he had been attacked by one of those monsters, he would not have lived to tell the tale.

Yet he was so sure of the memory – and there had also been his bloody armor and soaked doublet. His clothes had been drenched with blood too, but that had had to be the Lady’s blood. Nothing had made sense. The Dark Lady’s presence had not made any sense to him at all. It still didn’t. When had she come, why had she come and why had there been seven dead direwolves while she had lain dying on his chest?

He had been sure the Lady was dying as he had carried her to the water. He hadn’t had a jar or cup, so he had had to cup his hands together and scoop up the water that way, all the while praying to the Gods that it would work.

It must have had some effect for most of the bleeding had stopped immediately, but the Lady had still been gravely injured and had remained unconscious.

He had carried her through the forest to a little stone hut that he had discovered on his way to the lake and had used as shelter from the rain before he had continued his journey. It wasn’t too far from the shore. He had been surprised to find his stallion waiting for them at the overgrown stone well in front of the hut. He had been sure it had been killed by the wolves.

He had wrapped her injuries, had changed the bandages countless times by now, but days had turned into weeks and she still hadn’t woken up. He had made ointment and tea from herbs to help her heal and keep her hydrated, but the wounds seemed to be healing painfully slow despite his best efforts. He fed her soup daily to sustain her body and he kept her warm. He soothed the fevers and tried to calm her down when she screamed and thrashed about lost in dark dreams. She talked in her dreams too – called out for her mother or rambled wild nonsense that he could not make sense of.

When he had rushed to her now, Rumplestiltskin was surprised to find the Dark Lady awake and sitting up. She looked at him with terror-stricken eyes as he entered the single room. Her face was flushed and she was shivering wildly.

“I – she is dead. I buried her” she breathed.

“M’lady dreamed” he said soothingly “it was only a dream”

She let him push her back down gently and readjust the blankets. “Here” He mopped her face with a cool damp cloth and then helped her drink a little water from one of the flasks “The Lady was hurt. I have tried to help as best as I could” he explained “M’lady should rest, her body is still healing”

“Wolves” she grabbed his arm “You – I couldn’t …”

“They are dead. Not to worry, M’lady, we are safe here” he stroked her arm and she closed her eyes.

She drifted in and out of sleep for the next few days, but the nightmares seemed to be gone for good.

A little color had returned to her cheeks when she asked him to take her outside one afternoon. She said she needed to feel the sun and wind on her skin again, so he carried her out of the hut, her arms around his neck and head resting against his chest. She was still too weak to walk.

He carefully set her down on the mossy crooked steps in the shade of the hut and sat down next to her. His horse came to say hello, nudging her and sniffing her face.

“Hello stranger” she laughed and reached up to pet his nose, but then winced and put a hand on her side “don’t make me laugh, I can’t do that yet”

“May I ask the Lady a question” Rumple asked her. He had been wondering for quite a long while now and felt he needed to know “is she truly the Dark One? Or did she just say that to spook a naïve knight?”

She crocked her head.

“Forgive a foolish man for asking, but I never saw the Lady use magic on our travels - and wouldn’t the most powerful dark sorceress have killed a pack of direwolves by magic rather than by steel? Or healed herself?”

“I healed you” she said quietly, contemplating him “Those wolves must have been a special breed or otherwise enchanted, for I could not touch them with my magic. The wounds they inflicted on my body weakened me greatly, so I could not heal myself. The caster of a spell has to be conscious”

She shivered and looked at the trees at the edge of the clearing. He followed her gaze. The sun fell on the little group of trees, bathing them in warm orange and pink pastel-tones. The light glistened on the water of the lake on the other side, just visible through them. It was an ordinary little lake with a sand and grass shore and surrounded by many-colored wild flowers. Ruins of a castle overlooked the peaceful water from the other end. He had walked the winding path between the trees to the lake many times, for it was their only freshwater source.

“Could you take me there, my Lord?” she pointed at the water.

He lifted her again and carried her across the clearing and through the trees, his horse trotting behind them.

The air was warmer on the other side of the trees, the buzzing of insects almost too loud as they sat down in the sappy grass. The lake lay like a sparkling turquoise-blue gemstone, the sun bouncing off its surface. A fish broke its calm to catch an insect and ripples widened out. Rumple could see a swarm of bright dragonflies zoom across it and land on a bulrush nearby.

They sat on the grass in silence for a while. The Lady was picking flowers braiding them into a long clover flower chain that curled in her lap. The scars on her arms and face stood out ghostly white and reddish-pink in the sunlight.

“I am very sorry for what happened at Lake Nostos, M’lady”

He had wanted to apologize ever since he had found himself in the Troll Mountains. If he had just taken the spell or asked her to help him, things would most likely have turned out differently. She might have found whoever she was looking for and maybe even helped him with his own quest. He would not have gone back to the lake to try and get another jar of the water for her. She would not have been scarred from head to toe.

She stopped braiding and smiled sadly “I should not have asked Your Lordship to accompany me there – I very nearly cost him his life twice.”

“I think the Lady saved my life and very nearly lost her own doing so” he said, thinking of the massive wolves.

“And since then you have kept saving mine every single day for what – from what I gather – has probably been months” she took his hand “For that I thank you. You had no reason to show me such great kindness.”

He watched, too stunned to speak, as she laid out a row of her little blossoms in straight line from the crook of his arm to his palm, then placed a soft kiss on his wrist.

“T-the water saved you, M’lady” he stammered.

“The water you procured with the sole intent to save my life. You must have wished to save me with all your heart, for it would not have worked, if you hadn’t”

She was still holding his hand. Her face fell “I am afraid the water will no longer be able to help you in your quest for the missing girl, my Lord” she was drawing circles on his wrist with her thumb “The magic only works once – and you spent yours on my life”

He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter, that he did not need the water, that he should never have tried to rely on magical aid in the first place and that her life had been more important to him than anything else in that moment at the shore, but she kept speaking.

“I would offer to help, but I have never been able to come away with anything but ordinary water from the lake myself – and my magic is currently but a feeble flicker, but I vow to repay your kindness in any way I can once my strength will have returned to me”

“The Lady would have done the same for me” as he said it, he was suddenly sure of it. She had come back out of her own accord to Lake Nostos too. There had to have been a reason for that.

He looked out over the lake again and suddenly remembered how she had stood in the lake’s water on the outskirts of the Dark Forest on the very first day of their journey, a bright red dragonfly in all its finery, her hair and skin glowing. He thought about how beautiful she had looked then. Then - and when she had smiled at him in the light of the bonfire. When she had taken his hands to dance. When she had covered her flushed face giggling. When she was falling asleep next to him.

She was looking at him now. A soft smile and bright eyes.

“Would the Lady like to swim?”

She nodded and he took her into his arms again and slowly walked out into the water.

The water felt cool on his heated-up skin and unbelievably smooth. He went further towards the middle until his shoulders were almost submerged.

Rumple felt her heart flutter in her chest. Her grip tightened around his neck.

“Are you alright, M’lady?”

She buried her face in the nook between his neck and shoulder and whispered against his skin in a small voice “I can’t swim.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly. What? She lived in a castle on the seaside, waded out knee-deep into unknown waters, caught fish with her bare hands and swam through raging torrents in total darkness on her horse, but she couldn’t bloody _swim_?

“I’ve got you, M’lady, relax”

She looked at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Relax against me.”

She touched her forehead to his, letting go one hand at his neck and bringing it to his cheek. Rumple felt the blood rush in his ears, his heart beating fast and unevenly.

Her eyes weren’t just blue. Up close, peering into their depths, he could see the layers - various pale-blue shades with a lot of white rays in the iris. They were clear and luminous – and smiling at him.

Her breath washed warm over his lips and he closed the distance, parting her lips against his. Her lips were soft silk, smooth and warm - and wet from the water. The pressure was so gentle, so tender that deep warmth began to spread through his body.There was nothing in the world but her mouth against his.

The kiss was slow. As if they had all day. As if they had forever. In that moment, she was all he had ever wanted and all he had ever needed. She was his lady.

When the kiss broke and he opened his eyes again, she was gazing at him with sparkling eyes, a rosy glow on her cheeks. All the scars on her face were gone, her complexion a radiant delicate pink with soft golden undertones.

He blinked confusedly “M’lady …?”

She kissed him again, both hands around his neck and nearly knocked him off balance.

“My name is Belle.”


End file.
